They hang in formation. A pattern I can’t quite grasp but can feel pressing against my mind.
“They’re alive,” I whisper, stepping closer.
Dane reaches for my arm, but I move past his grip. I need to see.
The bodies aren’t just hanging—they’re connected. Thin filaments of energy pulse between them, a network of light that ebbs and flows like blood through veins. The pattern shifts from indigo to silver to black, cycling rhythmically.
The scar on my wrist throbs in time with the pulse.
I step closer to a young male wolf—barely more than twenty—his body suspended in a half-shift, caught between forms. His chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. Not asleep. Something worse.
“They’re powering something,” Dane says, his voice tight.
I reach toward the suspended wolf. My fingers stop inches from his skin, but the connection forms anyway. The scar on my wrist flares silver-bright, burning cold. The filaments of light between the suspended bodies pulse faster in response.
The pull is immediate—not physical but energetic. My consciousness starts to blur at the edges, as if the boundary between me and the circuit is thinning. I can feel the others now, their presences muted but there.
My arm stretches forward without my permission. The scar burns brighter.
Strong fingers wrap around my wrist, just below the mark. Dane’s grip is firm, precise. Not yanking me back, just anchoring me to something solid.
“Nova.”
I snap back into myself, gasping. The connection breaks.
We step back, his hand still on my wrist. We observe the circuit together now. I follow the energy flow: not symbols carved into anything, but pure structure. The bodies aren’t just power sources; they’re conductors. Amplifiers. Each positioned to maximize resonance.
“There,” Dane points to a node where three filaments intersect behind a human woman’s suspended form. “That’s a break point.”
I track the current to another weak spot where the flow narrows. “And there.”
We move in sync. He reaches for the node he identified. I press my hand toward the current junction.
The moment we touch the filaments, the circuit spikes. The suspended wolf twitches violently. Pain lashes through my scar, up my arm, into my chest.
I stumble back, gasping. The circuit stabilizes, pulsing faster now. Defensive.
That’s when I see it—really see it. The pattern in the energy. The signature in the flow.
“He’s in it,” I whisper, cold realization flooding through me. “Faelan isn’t just drawing power from them. He’s using them as a body. He’s here. Watching us. Living inside this.”
The circuit pulses.
I step back from the suspended bodies, my scar throbbing in time with the energy web connecting them. Something shifts in the air; not a sound, not a movement, but arealignment. The Fade responds, colors draining from the twisted landscape until everything takes on a crystalline clarity.
He doesn’t appear with dramatic flair. One moment, the space is empty, the next, Faelan stands among his handiwork, composed and pristine in dark robes that absorb light rather than reflect it. His presence doesn’t disrupt the Fade like Dane’s; it completes it.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Faelan’s voice carries without effort. “A perfect system, balanced to the final decimal.”
My scar pulses violently, sending electric recognition up my arm. My body knows him before my mind processes his presence.
“You’ve grown stronger than I anticipated,” he says, studying me with eyes that see too much. “The flaws I left in your designweren’t failures—they were adaptive spaces.” He tilts his head slightly. “You filled them so creatively.”
Faelan steps closer to the suspended wolf I nearly touched. His fingers hover near the boy’s face, not menacing but appreciative. “Each vessel serves its purpose. Some conduct. Some amplify. Some transform.” His gaze returns to me. “And some were made to complete the circuit.”
I can’t speak. My tongue feels frozen against the roof of my mouth. The scar burns colder, no longer just responding but actively connecting.
“You’re not hearing me clearly,” Faelan continues. “I didn’t break you, Nyvariel. I didn’t turn you. You werecreatedwith purpose.“ He smiles, the expression gentle and terrifying. “Your mother tried to hide you in mortality, but blood remembers its purpose.”
